


Where we are not / Do not forget

by olympia_m



Series: My pillow floats on a river of tears, so how can I have any dreams? [1]
Category: Finder no Hyouteki | Finder Series, 闇の末裔 | Yami No Matsuei | Descendants of Darkness
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Crossover, Depression, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, pre-slash between Liu and Mibu, self-indulgent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 14:18:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13148430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olympia_m/pseuds/olympia_m
Summary: One stays the same no matter how one would like to pretend otherwise (or a story where Oriya wants to run away from himself and fails, Feilong confuses himself but doesn't change, and Asami and Muraki are two dark dei ex machina).





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been waking up before dawn for the last year, and one of my joys is seeing how dark the hour before dawn is, the darkest of all the night hours. So, this is a fic where things are dark, and grow darker right before the end.  
> The title of the story comes from Anton Batagov's Where we are not. Letters of Mother Serafima (which, together with Tayatha, kept me company while writing).  
> The title of the series is a paraphrase of the Kokinshu poem XI:527.  
> I still like torturing Oriya - and doing all the other things that I usually do in my fics.... So this has more of the same: angst, drama, sparse descriptions, weird humour, references to music and literature 

Asami had just started reading the daily report on Takaba when Kirishima opened the door. “Asami-sama, I’m sorry to bother you, but someone insists on seeing you.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Someone? Does he have a name?”

“He refuses to give it to me.”

“And you’ve allowed it?” 

Kirishima nodded. 

“Send him away and tell him to make an appointment. Sometime next year would be good,” he smiled.

“He says he’s from Kyoto, the Tower of the Crane Musicians or something?” Kirishima frowned. “Cranes that play drums?”

Asami stood up. “Send him in.”

Kirishima bowed and moved away. A few moments later one of the most annoying people Asami had ever met walked into his office, looking the worse for wear. He had week-old bruises on his face, especially on his jaw and cheeks, and a still healing cut on the temple. His clothes, a dark suit and a white shirt, did not fit him well and they were crumpled and dirty. “You look like hell,” he chuckled.

“Thanks.” He collapsed on the chair facing Asami. “I need a cigarette.”

Asami threw him his packet and lighter. He caught them in the air, looked at the packet as if it held all of life’s secrets, and with the same intense concentration opened it, took out a cigarette, put it in his mouth and lit it. Asami grinned at the deep sigh that followed that first inhalation. “That good, huh?”

“I haven’t had a smoke in days,” he glared at Asami. “Days.” 

“Poor you.” Asami stopped smiling. He called Kirishima. “Tea and sandwiches, please. When was the last time you ate?” 

He shrugged and closed his eyes, obviously delighting in the cigarette. 

Asami sat down again. “So.”

“Yes?”

“What are you doing here?”

“What does it look like? I’m smoking. And you just said you’ll feed me.” He grinned. 

“That is not funny at all.”

“It is, from my perspective.” He reached for the ashtray and stubbed out the cigarette. Then he leaned forward. “Asami, I need your help. I want you to get me out of the country.”

“I’m not running a travel agency,” Asami snorted. 

“I know that.”

Asami took a deep breath. He didn’t even know why he was putting up with this crazy person in his office. Perhaps he was more bored than he thought. Or simply curious. “If you do, why bother me?”

“My passport is inconveniently at home.”

Yes, that made sense, Asami snorted. “Then you should go there.” 

He rolled his eyes for a moment. “No, I don’t want to go there. Not now, anyway.” He opened the packet again and took out another cigarette. “Please, say you will help me.” 

Asami studied him. “What’s in it for me?”

“My eternal gratitude?” 

“Try again.”

He gave Asami a knowing smile. “A favour. Of your choosing. At a time of your choosing.”

“Anything I want?”

“Yes.” He lit the cigarette with the same blissful expression. “Anything.”

“Tomorrow or in ten years?”

“Whenever you want,” he nodded. 

“In return for a trip abroad.”

“Yes.”

Asami wondered if he would regret it, but the prospect of having the Mibu heir owe him a favour was too much of a temptation, especially in light of what was happening within his group. “Deal.”

“Great,” the man smiled. He looked at some point beyond Asami as he smoked and his smile slowly widened. 

At exactly that moment Asami suspected he would regret it, but it was too late to take back his offer to help. Fuck. 

&*&*

A shower, a clean set of clothes, and a bowl of warm rice soup had made Oriya feel restored physically and mentally. He leaned back on the couch. “I can’t begin to thank you enough,” he told Asami one more time. 

Asami frowned. “Cut the crap. I do this because you owe me,” he smirked. 

Oriya bit back a snort. “I do, don’t I?” He put down the empty bowl. “I’m really tired. Would it be okay if I…”

At a nod from Asami Kirishima stood up. “I’ll show you to your room, Mibu-sama.”

“Thank you. Again, I’m sorry for my earlier behavior, Kirishima-san.”

Kirishima dismissed his apology with a shrug. He showed Oriya to the guest room. Like everything else in Asami’s house it was stylish, minimalist, and looked like it had never been used. Oriya couldn’t imagine living in a place that looked like it could be featured in an interior decoration magazine. At least the bed looked comfortable. 

He waited until the door was closed to lie down under the duvet. It smelled of lavender. Oriya nuzzled it. He was still so exhausted, and so angry as well. If he were in his father’s place, if he had an only son who’d been kidnapped, he wouldn’t have sat on his ass waiting to see what would happen. He wouldn’t be surprised if this turned out to be a test to see how Oriya could handle himself. 

Well, he could handle himself, that was certain. It was his father he couldn’t handle. 

*&*

“Seriously?”

A young’s man’s loud voice woke him up. 

Oriya sat up. 

“Hush,” Asami said, more quietly, but loud enough for Oriya to hear him. 

“You have the victim of a kidnapping in your guest room,” the young man continued in the same tone. 

“Not much of a victim,” Asami said, and Oriya could hear the smirk. 

Oriya got up. “It’s rude to talk about me behind my back,” he said as he opened the door.

The young man rose from Asami’s lap. He was beautiful, in a wholesome way. The rumours were true, then. “I’m Takaba Akihito. Can I have the exclusive rights to your story?”

Oriya laughed. “Maybe? I’m sorry for disturbing you,” he told Asami, “I just wanted some water,” he continued as he moved towards the kitchen. 

“Who kidnapped you? And why? How did you escape?” Takaba continued. 

“To answer your questions,” Oriya said after drinking, “I don’t know, I don’t know, and wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Eh?” Takaba’s eyes widened. “You’re….”

Oriya laughed. “Annoying?” 

Asami smirked. “I could have told you that,” he whispered to Takaba. 

Takaba sat down. “But, why are you here? Your family must be so worried. You…”

“Should go back to them?” Oriya said, opening Asami’s fridge, looking for a snack. Maybe a fruit? A carrot? “No.”

“At least let me call them.”

Oriya slammed the door shut, glaring at Takaba. “No.”

“That’s…. just wrong,” Takaba said in a small voice. Asami moved closer to him. 

“Forgive me. I’m still....” Angry? Annoyed? Tired? All of these and more? Oriya sighed. “Please. Don’t get in touch with them.”

“Why not?”

Takaba’s expression was curious but so was Asami’s. Oriya sat facing them, and sighed. “You know I haven’t left Kyoto in almost ten years? Ever since I started managing my family’s restaurant I have been unable to go anywhere. We are so busy,” he sighed again. Then he smiled. “And then, last week, I was attacked on my way back from ordering some new clothes. They drugged me, they kidnapped me, and took me outside Kyoto.”

Takaba looked curious, horrified, and concerned at the same time. Oriya had rarely seen such an expressive face. It gave him the desire to continue with this half-lie. “They weren’t that bad, all things considered.” He grinned. “Well, apart from not letting me smoke. I wonder if they thought I could start a fire from the lighter. Ha. Perhaps that was it.”

Asami snorted. “Perhaps.”

“Yes, I think that was it,” he smiled. “Anyway, two days ago I managed to free myself. I beat up the person guarding me, took his money and his clothes, and walked out. Took me almost two hours to find a place to ask for directions, and then most of the day until I could find a place to hitch a ride to the closest train station. I slept at the station, took the train to Tokyo, and then went to see Asami.”

Takaba looked shocked. “You…”

Oriya laughed. “I haven’t had so much fun in years. Do you have any idea how beautiful the mountains are at this time of the year? You probably do, but I had forgotten. I had forgotten,” he smiled, not lying about that. “So, I don’t want to go back home already. I want to have an adventure. Or at least a break from work.”

“That almost makes sense,” Takaba said after a moment. “Why simply not you tell them you need a vacation?”

Oriya snorted. “Because they will rightly tell me that if I’m well enough to beat a guy and walk for a whole day before reaching civilization, then I don’t need a vacation.”

“Hm. So, have you thought of what you want to do next?”

“I want to travel. Preferably outside Japan. I still don’t know who ordered my kidnapping, although I have my suspicions. And if I am correct, then they will keep looking for me until my family deals with the situation. But no one will suspect I left the country. That’s not me, you see.”

“You could always cut your hair and dye it. Then no one will recognize you,” Asami said with a smirk.

Oriya glared at him. 

“It is a good idea, though,” Takaba agreed. “I can ask a friend…”

Oriya snorted. “Forget it.” He stood up. “It was lovely meeting you, Takaba-san. I hope you don’t mind that I’m going back to bed.”

“Yes, get some rest. You’ll have a big day tomorrow,” Asami said. 

Oriya smiled. “Yes? Thank you. Good night.” 

He neglected to close the door completely before lying down. For a while he could hear nothing but the very softest rustle of clothes and a sigh or two. Ah, their love was still young. Or strong enough to feel like young regardless of how much time had passed since they had got together. It made him smile. 

“What are you planning to do, Asami?”

“Send him to Feilong.”

“What?” Takaba screamed. 

“Quiet,” Asami laughed. “You’ll wake him up.”

“But, Feilong?”

“He wants an adventure. I’ll give him one.” 

“Asami,” Takaba protested, “you can’t do that.”

“Why not? 

“Because…”

“It’s a good plan,” Asami said after a long pause, that Oriya suspected Asami had used to kiss Takaba into silence. “No one will ever suspect Mibu-san to be in Hong Kong, and Feilong will keep him safe if anyone does. Besides, there are a lot of things for someone like Mibu-san to do there.”

“Eh?”

“Great food, great music, beautiful nature. He won’t be bored.”

“You like him,” Takaba laughed. 

“Hardly. He’s a pest. But he owes me, so I owe it to him to give him a good experience.”

“Liar.” More rustling. “Is it the hair? Should I let mine grow?” Takaba asked in a speculative tone. 

“Idiot,” Asami snorted. 

Oriya turned around, and covered his head with the pillow. He didn’t need to hear their lovemaking. Thank the gods that was the easiest thing to tune out for him.  
So, Hong Kong. He couldn’t wait for the next day to come.


	2. Chapter 2

The car stopped in front of one of the tallest buildings Oriya had ever seen. He suddenly felt like all his years in Kyoto had turned him into a provincial relic and he laughed. The slight noise made the slight, pulsing pain behind his left eye stronger for a moment. Oriya pushed it aside. He would not let something as annoying as a mild migraine distract him.

Suoh raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. 

“So, this is it?”

Suoh nodded. He then walked to the entrance. Oriya followed him. “I have a delivery for Liu-sama from Asami-sama,” he said to the guards inside. 

One of them nodded. “You are expected. Please, go up.”

“This place is so sterile,” Oriya whispered as the elevator doors closed behind them. “Not that I’m complaining,” he said noticing Suoh’s tiny frown.

Suoh gave him an equally tiny smirk. 

“I am grateful,” Oriya continued. “You will tell Asami that, won’t you?”

“Of course, Mibu-sama.”

“Thank you.” Oriya kept his mouth shut on the rest of the way up, hoping that his new host would be kind enough to give him a room with a view. He suspected the view from the top would be spectacular – especially at night. 

“Liu-laoban is expecting you,” a guy in a dark suit told them the moment the elevator doors opened directly into a corridor. “Please, follow me.”

Oriya smirked. Mobsters dressed the same on either side of the sea; why had he expected anything different? 

The man led them across the corridor, knocked on a door, and then opened it. “Liu-laoban, your guests.”

“Thank you.”

The man bowed and left them. 

The first thing that Oriya noticed was that Liu was a few years younger than him, and extraordinarily beautiful. Tall, lithe, with hair so black it looked cut from a starless night, and delicate features. Yet the sense of strength and determination that shone from his eyes made clear that this was no fragile beauty. Dressed in a traditional Chinese costume he looked dignified and commanding at the same time. 

Next he noticed that the office was mostly filled with Chinese furniture. The contrast between the stark, austere entrance and corridor and the office was deliberate and deceptive. Liu looked like a lord of old. Oriya smiled. His family probably believed in upholding traditions as much as his did. 

For a moment Oriya was curious about this man, this Liu. Then he pushed his curiosity aside; he wasn’t here to meddle. He wasn’t here to care. He was here for himself. He bowed. “Liu-sama, thank you for offering me your hospitality.”

Liu smirked. “Thank Asami.”

“I already have.” 

Liu turned to Suoh. “And you repeat to Asami that now we’re even, and I don’t owe him anything.”

Oriya frowned. “You’re doing this as a favour to Asami?”

“Yes.”

He started laughing. “Favours are the new currency, it seems. I owe Asami one for helping me, and you…”

Liu smiled. “Yes, it is funny that we all seem to deal in favours these days.” 

“Would you like one too? I cannot repay you in any other way right now.”

Liu waved his hand dismissively. “I promised Asami to treat you like a guest, and so I will.” He pushed an envelope towards Oriya. “Here.”

Suoh picked it up and brought it to him. 

“Thank you,” Oriya said mechanically as he opened it. A credit card in Liu’s name, a slip of paper with its pin, and a set of card keys. “Thank you,” he said again, sincerely. 

“Use it for anything you need or want,” Liu smiled. “If you need to rest, Tao will show you to your room.”

“Thank you, but I seem to need several things first.” 

“In that case,” Liu picked up the phone, “Wang, come here,” he said quickly, switching to Cantonese for a moment. 

The door opened a moment later. “Liu-laoban.”

Liu continued in his language. Then he repeated in Japanese. “Wang will guide you and make sure you don’t get lost.”

“Thank you,” Oriya said again. “That is most kind.” He didn’t need a bodyguard, but if it made his host happy, he would put up with it. 

Liu nodded. “Great. Now that this is settled, please, feel free to use my house as your home. Wang will show you around.”

He knew when he was dismissed. Oriya made another bow. “Thank you.” The moment he was out of the study, he bowed to Wang. “Thank you for your kindness. Please take care of me.” 

Wang frowned and looked at Suoh. Suoh shrugged. “Erm… Japanese… only little, no good,” Wang said in Japanese. 

“My Chinese is bad too,” Oriya said in Chinese, smiling. “I need toiletries,” he switched back to Japanese and mimicked brushing his teeth. Then he made a questioning gesture.  
Wang grinned. “Understood.” He pointed at himself and then the door as he said something in Chinese. 

Oriya didn’t understand a single word. His Chinese was more than rusty, it turned out. So much for the benefits of a classical education. “Suoh, you staying with us or going back to Tokyo?”

“I’m going back.”

“In that case,” Oriya bowed to him. “Thank you for your help. I appreciate it. And thank Asami for me.”

“I will.”

Wang pointed at the door again. Oriya grinned. “Wait. Wait.” This was going to be the best adventure ever!

&*&*

There was a soft knock on the door. “Come in,” Feilong said. 

“Liu-Laoban,” Wang said with a small bow.

“You are back? Good. Report.”

“Your guest had to do shopping for basic toiletries first, so I took him to the nearest pharmacy. Then we walked around the Harbour area and the centre, where he bought clothes. We had lunch, and then walked around again.” 

“Did you notice anything suspicious?”

“No.”

“That’s good.” Feilong grinned. “Are you up to baby-sitting tomorrow as well?”

“If that is what Liu-laoban wants.”

“Thank you, Wang. Tell my guest that dinner will be served in five minutes, if he wants to join me.”

“Sir.” He bowed again, and left him alone.

Feilong smiled. Of all the things Asami could have asked of him, this was perhaps the easiest. He closed his book, and went to the dining room. He had to play the gracious host again. 

His guest arrived exactly five minutes later, dressed in an indigo blue shirt and classic dark grey trousers. For a moment Feilong studied him. The clothes accentuated his height and build, showing off a well-toned body. For a moment Feilong wanted to undress him. 

Then he focused on other things, like recognizing that the clothes were from one of Hong Kong’s most exclusive shops. It seemed like he’d made the right choice when he’d assumed that any friend of Asami’s would probably have the same tastes as Asami, and had given him one of his black cards. “You had a good day, I hope?” he asked, as if he didn’t know already.

“Yes.” 

Feilong gestured for him to continue. 

“I just walked around a lot, and did some shopping. It was a good day. Your city is so alive. So busy. I liked it a lot.” He smiled a little. “I really don’t get out much. So, being here made me so happy, even if all I did was walk. Oh, and Wang took me for lunch to a place serving the most amazing dim sum. It really was such a good day,” he sighed happily.

These yellowish bruises were distracting, but the man had the most expressive eyes. “You’re easily pleased,” Feilong smiled back. 

“Why shouldn’t I be?” His expression turned wistful. “It’s the little things that matter, after all. Speaking of which… Do you think you can get me tickets for tomorrow’s concert of the Philharmonic? I asked but they said it was sold out, however, perhaps you can arrange something?”

“What makes you think I have such connections?”

“You don’t?” He asked innocently, his eyes widening. The light made them shine like liquid honey. 

“No, I get tickets like everyone else.” He grinned at his guest’s disappointed expression. “Luckily for you, I have four tickets for tomorrow’s concert. I suspect you will appreciate it more than one of the bodyguards who was supposed to come with me.” Feilong knew he definitely would enjoy more going to the concert with someone who wanted to listen to the music. The promise of having someone to discuss the performance afterwards made him suddenly happy. 

“Thank you so much!” He bowed so deeply, he hit his head on the table. “Ouch,” he laughed. 

He shook his head, smiling. His guest really was ridiculously easy to please. And ridiculously easy to be with, if he were honest with himself. His voice alone was pleasant, but his laughter, ah, that was delightful. “You know, I still don’t know who you are.” Not for lack of trying. He’d had one of his men search the files of Asami’s associates and partners, but his guest was not among them. “Asami,” the manipulating, scheming bastard, “said I should ask you.”

“Oh.” His guest blinked. “You may call me Hiromasa,” he said with a wide grin.

“So, you won’t tell me?”

“No,” he said, expression unchanged. 

Easily pleased and just as easily amused, it seemed. “That is rude,” Feilong said seriously. “I…”

“I’m sorry,” his guest said, cutting him off. “You are right. It is rude. But can’t you leave it at that for now? Call me Hiromasa and let me enjoy your uncomplicated and honest hospitality?”

Feilong frowned. He could make his man continue investigating. Have him search members of groups not allied to Asami. 

His guest sighed. “Fine. My name is…”

Feilong took a deep breath not liking how dejected his guest looked. “Hiromasa,” Feilong smiled. “If that is who you want to be, then so be it.”

“Thank you,” he whispered, bowing again. 

‘Hiromasa’’s expression of gratitude was so sincere that Feilong felt awkward. Damn ‘Hiromasa’s’ eyes for being such open windows to his soul. He dismissed the thanks with a gesture. “Anything else you wish?”

‘Hiromasa’ stared at the table. “Well,” he said, and then looked up at him with wide-eyed excitement. “You have a beautiful dojo. Training hall? May I use it?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you.”

Feilong lifted his spoon. “Enough with the thanks. Try the soup. It’s best eaten hot.” 

“Ah, thank you.” ‘Hiromasa’ smiled again. “And how was your day?”

“Uneventful. I spent it mostly reading.”

“Ah, yes? What, if I may ask?”

“Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio.”

“Pu Songling? Excellent. Are you reading them in sequence or…”

Someone with taste who liked classical music, martial arts, and classical literature. What connection did ‘Hiromasa’ have with Asami? They didn’t seem to have much common. He smiled. “At random. This is my second time reading them, after all.”

“Ah, a good book is a good companion, right? Which stories captured your fancy today?” ‘Hiromasa’ stared at him, genuinely interested. 

Feilong smiled. “The story of the Mural and the Painted Skin.”

“Why?”

“Why not?” 

‘Hiromasa’ shook his head a little, grinning. “Both stories are about thresholds and crossing over. You tell me that you chose them at random?”

“I did.”

‘Hiromasa’ studied him. “Hm, maybe you did.” He finally tried the soup. “Oh, this is excellent. Maybe I should steal your chef when I leave,” he laughed. 

“You can try,” Feilong said, using his best cold, threatening voice.

“Just joking.” 

“Good. So, if you were to pick up a random story from Strange Tales, what would you choose?”

“One with a wise fox. There’s one where a fox lives as a hermit in the mountains trying to find wisdom. I think that one.”

“Why?”

“Because if an unclean spirit as a fox has a chance at being redeemed, then so must the rest of us.” 

“Isn’t that optimistic?”

“Maybe.” ‘Hiromasa’ smiled. “A man can’t live on bread alone. A man must also dream, and hope for something better.”

Feilong raised an eyebrow. “And is this journey your dream, ‘Hiromasa’?”

‘Hiromasa’ started laughing. “How astute.” He bowed his head slightly. “It is indeed.” 

“Your hope too for something better?”

‘Hiromasa’ snorted. “As if,” he muttered. He pushed the soup bowl aside. “I’m still me, even if I ask you to call me by another name. How stupid is it then to pretend I’m someone else?”

And intelligent enough to question himself. “I don’t have enough information to answer you.” 

‘Hiromasa’ sighed. “I find myself suddenly tired. May I retire?”

“Of course. Though my chef will be insulted that you will not finish the meal he’s prepared.”

“Then I should stay,” ‘Hiromasa’ smiled. “I run a restaurant back home. I know a lot about temperamental and insulted chefs.”

A restaurant? That would give his men some leads. “And you don’t want to insult mine.”

“Or my host, who is most generous to me.” ‘Hiromasa’ gave him another smile. 

“You flatter your customers like that?” 

“More than that.”

Feilong laughed. His guest was entertaining. He liked him.


	3. Chapter 3

One moment Oriya was asleep and the next he was awake. He turned the light on and checked the clock. “Six.” His head hurt a little but it seemed like his body had had enough rest. He stretched his arms grinning, jumped out of bed, grabbed the dressing gown and went out of his room. The kitchen was supposed to be downstairs, wasn’t it?

Liu’s cook and two of his assistants were already up, cooking breakfast. Oriya bowed at them as he slid into the kitchen and watched them. One of the assistants was cutting strips of dough and the other was checking the rice porridge. The cook was busy with preparing side dishes. The scene made him homesick for a moment. 

For a moment only. The bastards back home could have tracked him easily if they wanted. Instead they had left him to rot. His father was behind it, Oriya was certain of it. What kind of sins had he committed in his past life to be born into this existence? And with the sins he was committing in this one, he’d be glad if he were to come back as a dog in his next life. He shook his head, smiling as he always did when he wanted to hide his miserable thoughts. “Tea?”

The cook pointed at a cabinet. Oriya opened it eagerly and studied the various canisters, all lovingly labelled with handwritten tags. Oh, his esteemed host could open a tea shop if he wanted. He even had matcha. Well, a kind of.

The cook frowned when he saw him take it out. “That’s for cooking.” 

Oriya nodded. Of course he’d realized that when he read the label. And it was from China too, a serious error of taste in a man of such refinement as his host, but who cared? Even cooking grade matcha could be made into thin tea if there was nothing else. He took out four cups, found a spoon, dropped two grams of tea in his own cup and only one in the others, and started heating water in a small pot. 

He looked away from Liu’s people, hiding his frown. He really was feeling homesick, if he found himself making tea for the kitchen staff, exactly like he did at home. Then he made himself smile and turned around. He made a whisking motion and then a questioning gesture. 

One of the assistants grinned, opened a drawer and gave him a small egg whisk. It would do. For now. Oriya bowed as he took it formally with both hands, and the assistant laughed. 

Well, it definitely wouldn’t be the best tea he’d ever made, but nothing woke him up the way matcha did. Any matcha would do early in the morning, but he’d never admit that at home. His staff was even more snobbish about tea than he was. 

He poured a little water in each cup and started whisking until they all had a nice, thick froth on top. Then he added more water and whisked again until the froth was light and airy. He smiled, offering the three cups to the cook and his assistants. “Please, drink.” 

Oriya wondered how bad his Chinese sounded for the cook to look at him so strangely. Then the cook nodded. “Thank you.” He took a sip, frowned, and then took another. “Not bad.”

“Tomorrow better,” Oriya grinned as he tasted it. Strong, strong, strong. Exactly how he liked it. 

&*&*

Practicing with a sword in Liu’s training hall was nothing like practicing at home. He missed the fresh morning air, the chirping of birds, the scent of flowers and trees. He even missed that ever-watching sakura tree. 

Perhaps all he’d needed was enough sleep. He felt like he’d slept a lot these days, but now he was rested, and with rest came homesickness. Perhaps he ought to stop this game and just go back. It wasn’t like he was able to be anything but what he was. Drinking tea in the morning, practicing his sword next, what was he doing in Hong Kong but the things he did at home?

But then he thought how he’d been tied up for five days, taunted by his captors with his father’s refusal to respond to their missives, and struck repeatedly for not talking. He’d even been touched against his will and… One of them had been thinking of nothing but raping him. For five days. Something broke inside him under that constant assault, and he could no longer hear people’s thoughts. He felt like a part of his was missing ever since. No, no, he would not go home. He was going to be a guest, at least for a while longer. 

As he was moving between one kata and the next, he caught Wang staring at him from the open door. He stopped and nodded at him. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.”

“Say, do people really do tai chi in the parks here?”

Wang frowned. He gestured, ‘What?’

Oriya put the sword down and moved through the opening movements of his usual practice. Then he pointed outside. 

“Ah, tai chi.”

“Yes.” 

Wang nodded. 

“Can we? Join a group?”

Wang smiled and replied to him. Oriya only understood ‘later’ and ‘practice’ so, he decided that Wang meant they could go once he finished. He picked up the sword and resumed his exercises. Oh, but he couldn’t wait to see that for himself. Muraki had told him he’d seen groups of people as old as their Professor Shinzou practicing tai chi in Hong Kong and he’d been so curious ever since. 

He finished the sequence of kata with a smile. 

&*&*

The group they joined did not have people as old as Professor Shinzou, but the Master teaching them was quickly getting there. Oriya bowed to her happily after the session was over. 

“That was so wonderful,” he then told Wang. It wasn’t home, and the air was not as fresh or scented, but it was out, and it was sunny, and the air was crisp, and there were birds, and Oriya felt so happy he almost hugged him. 

Wang smiled and corrected his pronunciation. “Breakfast?”

“Please.”

Wang led him through some winding streets to a small food stall. There was a pretty long queue but Oriya was certain the wait would be worth it. The smell promised delicious, honest food. 

“What next?” Wang asked him as they waited and waited. 

He shrugged. “Walk? I don’t know.”

Wang looked away for a moment. “I know,” he then smiled. “Walk. And see.”

“Walk and see. Sounds good.”

&*&*

By the time they were back in Liu’s place, Oriya was certain that he’d fall asleep during the concert, so tired he felt. Instead, he had a quick shower and a long soak in the tub, where he entertained himself making mountains of bubbles that he cut down or moved or transformed into fantastical shapes. His bath back home was great but there was something so decadent about bubble baths. 

It wasn’t just the smell (and wasn’t Liu such a considerate host to leave him such a nice selection? Oriya had decided that musk and lily of the valley were not a bad combination). It was also the sensation of all that foam over the still, warm water, tingling and soothing at the same time. And what he liked the most was the slight popping sound the bubbles made when he burst them. Such fun.

More than rest, he needed that. To be allowed to just enjoy things without thinking if they had another meaning. To simply have a long bath without thinking that he’d need to face his customers next, or even worse, without wanting to drown himself because he’d just finished dealing with his customers and all their perversions. 

He rubbed himself with body butter when he was finished, checking his bruises. It was a good thing the weather wasn’t that hot yet and he could get away with wearing long-sleeved shirts. Yellow-green was not a good colour on him.

For a moment he was tempted to go after the idiots who’d kidnapped him when he returned home, but then he remembered himself. Boring Oriya, never doing anything unless asked – or ordered. Principled Oriya, not believing in revenge. After all, what had the quest for revenge brought Muraki? Dutiful Oriya, pushing his desires away, even when he wanted. Oh, how he wanted. 

Pushing his wants away, Oriya got dressed. And then, slowly, carefully, expertly, put make-up on. 

&*&*

Liu frowned when he saw him. “Make-up?” 

Oriya laughed. “I look like a domestic abuse victim otherwise, don’t you think?”

Liu nodded, smiling. “And you think the answer to domestic abuse is to hide your wounds?”

“No, I think the answer is fighting back, but what if people seeing us tonight thought that my esteemed and most considerate host was the one abusing me? That would be so wrong,” Oriya shuddered theatrically. 

Liu’s eyes widened. He opened his mouth once and then closed it. “So, what did you do today?”

“We went to a couple of temples and then up Victoria Peak. It was fun. The view was beautiful.” As beautiful as the view from Liu’s house, but Oriya didn’t want to say that.

“Glad you liked it.”

“Wang said something about a Big Buddha? I think that’s my plan for tomorrow.”

Liu smiled. “Sounds like an excellent plan. I’m glad you are enjoying yourself.”

“Only thanks to your offer of hospitality.”

Liu dismissed his words with a gesture. “So, ready for more fun?”

“Oh, yes,” Oriya smiled. “I can’t wait.”

“Follow me.” 

Oriya did, grinning. He suddenly wasn’t tired at all.

&*&*

The music had barely died out when Liu nudged him. Oriya opened his eyes reluctantly, feeling disoriented. “What?”

“I could have brought Di here if I wanted to put someone to sleep,” Liu said sternly. 

“I wasn’t sleeping,” Oriya protested. “Don’t you find it easier to concentrate on music with your eyes closed? Let the music flow inside you, softly, or not so, depending on the piece?” 

“No. I actually prefer to watch how people around me react.” Liu grinned. “And you were definitely sleeping.”

“No, I wasn’t.” 

“You were.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You were.”

“No, I wasn’t.” Oriya started laughing. “You won’t believe me no matter how many times I say it, will you?”

“No.”

“Oh, fine, then. Believe what you will.” Oriya smiled. “But I wasn’t.”

Liu laughed. “It’s ok if you were sleeping. I don’t mind.”

“But how could I possibly sleep during such a virtuoso and sensitive performance?”

“Easily.”

Oriya made a face. 

Liu laughed again. Oriya wouldn’t mind hearing more of that sound, but then pushed the thought away. “She is good, isn’t she?” Liu said with an admiring smile, turning Oriya’s thoughts away from desires and wants and the virtue of non-involvement. 

“Yes, she is. I’m tempted to ask for her autograph.”

“Then maybe you should.”

“No, I haven’t done such a thing in years. Besides, it would mean waiting and waiting after the concert and… didn’t you mention something about dining out afterwards?”

“Yes, I have made reservations at a place that I hope will be to your liking.”

“My host is being most gracious and kind.”

Liu snorted. 

“It’s true. You are positively spoiling me.”

Liu rolled his eyes upwards. “Well,” Liu started but Oriya saw the stage door open and put his finger on Liu’s lips to quieten him. Liu narrowed his eyes and Oriya realized what he did, hastily pulling away from him. 

Liu continued frowning for a few moments. Then he turned his attention to the stage. 

Oriya focused on the stage as well. What had possessed him to treat Liu with such familiarity? Stupid, stupid Oriya. He ought to go home and hide back in the shadows. 

&*&*

“I knew you weren’t sleeping,” Liu told him suddenly as they were waiting for the main course. “During the concert,” he clarified, in response to Oriya’s sudden frown. 

“Ah, so you believe me?”

“No,” Liu laughed. “I told you, I like to watch the people around me.”

Oriya moved slightly forward, fascinated by what Liu wanted to say. 

“The young lady two rows in front of me played in her cell phone. The man with the grey hair three seats away from me moved his hand in time with the music. The woman with the yellow scarf in front of me swayed. You closed your eyes and were still. Until half-way through the second movement, when you started breathing in time with the music.”

Oriya grinned. He did do that. 

“Do you ever imagine anything when you close your eyes?” Liu leaned forward. “Once I read this novel by Oscar Wilde, where two people recognized that they were connected because they had had the same visions during a piano recital. They became lovers after that.”

“Teleny.”

Liu’s eyes sparkled. “Yes. You’d read that too?”

“Once,” he smiled. 

“I read everything by Wilde when I was younger. Even Teleny, although its authorship is questioned.”

“The style is quite similar to the other Wilde novels, though. All those over the top descriptions.”

“I’d call them sensual and luxurious,” Liu smiled. 

“Yes, there is something very physical in the way he describes things, isn’t there? Like he’s inviting you to touch them.”

Liu nodded. “Exactly.” He snorted. “I never managed to imagine anything when listening to music, though. I appreciate rhythm and melody and structure, but it’s like music can’t activate the imaginative element in my mind. Not like books do.”

“Hm. Is that because books already describe what you are supposed to imagine?”

Liu frowned. “Perhaps. Perhaps because you have to spend a lot of time with a book, it is easier to build its world inside your head. Easier to explore it, and then fill in the details that are missing. You don’t agree?” 

“No, I do. I just never thought of world-building as a form of travel.”

“Hm.” Liu looked up. “Ah, thank you,” he told the waiter bringing their food. He waited until the waiter put down the plates and left. “Well?”

Oriya smiled. “Music sometimes makes me imagine things. Especially music that includes sounds that replicate nature. But I never had a vision like Teleny’s, let alone one that would make me recognize a lover.”

Liu laughed. “Life is easier in novels.”

“So true.”

“Although, Teleny died in the end, didn’t he? Life was not much easier for him.”

“But he died tried to save his lover, did he not? Wasn’t that a noble death?”

“There’s nothing noble about death.” Liu’s eyes hardened for a moment. “And dying for a lover is stupid.” 

Spoken like someone who’d never loved. How come someone like Liu not have loved and been loved already? He had everything. Oriya pushed his curiosity away and decided to change the subject. “One could argue that dying for any cause is stupid. Yet, if this duck hadn’t died for us, we wouldn’t be having it for dinner tonight. Wasn’t that a worthy cause?” He put his hands together. “Thank you for the meal.”

Liu started laughing. “That’s not a cause,” he said, yet he picked up his fork and knife and started cutting into the tender flesh. “But this bird did die so we could feast on it. We shouldn’t waste its sacrifice.” 

&*&*

Ordinarily, after such a long day of trekking up and down Hong Kong centre, enjoying one of the best concerts he’d heard in a while, and having had excellent food, Oriya would have wanted nothing but wrap himself in his covers and sleep (and how he liked the covers in his bed; they smelled of white orchid). Instead, he couldn’t rest. 

He couldn’t stop replaying the moment the touched Liu so intimately, and how soft his lips were. He couldn’t understand himself at all. What had he wanted? Why had he done that? Liu was beautiful, no doubt about that, but he was also one of Asami’s associates. 

Men like that always meant trouble – if not soon, then at some point in the future. He didn’t want to be involved with him. He didn’t even want to just have sex with him, too aware of how he was nothing but an assortment of easily hurt bruises at the moment. 

Perhaps the music was to blame. All that passionate, vibrant music that had made him lose himself for more than an hour. That seductive music that spoke of love under the moonlight, next to gentle streams and fragrant gardens. Perhaps that was to blame for everything. 

Since he couldn’t focus on the book he'd borrowed from Liu's library (and how could he? classical poetry was full of love poems – the last thing he needed to be reading at that point), and he definitely couldn’t sleep, Oriya got up, picked up his cigarettes and lighter and sat down to smoke in front of the window. The view was spectacular at night; he hoped he would get lost in the dance of lights soon.


	4. Chapter 4

Feilong was surprised to see ‘Hiromasa’ join him for breakfast but he didn’t mind the company. A faint grassy-sweet smell wafted towards him, and Feilong pushed down the urge to take a sniff. He wasn’t a dog. “Good morning. Getting ready to see the Big Buddha?”

“Good morning.” ‘Hiromasa’ sat down, frowning. “Big Buddha? Ah, yes. Probably.” He suddenly grinned. “Yes, yes, that’s the plan for today, isn’t it?”

Feilong smiled. “Be sure to check Po Lin Monastery. It is very peaceful. But don’t try the food. It’s average at best.”

‘Hiromasa’ nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

For a moment he was tempted to join ‘Hiromasa’ in his pilgrimage. “I’ll tell Wang to take you to a place where they serve good vegetarian food, if you want to continue feeling like a pilgrim after your visit to the monastery.”

“Thank you, I appreciate that.”

Feilong smiled again. So polite, his guest, always so polite. “You don’t have to wear make-up for my sake,” he suddenly said. 

“I don’t. I wear it for mine.”

Feilong raised an eyebrow. 

“People did look at me like a victim of domestic abuse these days. Last night they didn’t. I liked it.”

He smiled. He had liked it too. ‘Hiromasa’ did look better with those ugly, fading bruises covered, but he’d probably look even better when he was fully healed. 

“Funny how people can judge someone just on his or her appearance,” ‘Hiromasa’ said softly. “This was the first time I saw people look at me with pity, or unease. I didn’t care much about it when I was travelling to Tokyo; I had other things to worry about at the time. But these days here, it bothered me.”

“To be seen as a victim?”

“Yes.” ‘Hiromasa’ smiled. “Ah, forgive me; I’m in a weird mood today. May I be excused?”

“You don’t need my permission to come or go. This is your home too while you are my guest.”

“Thank you.” ‘Hiromasa’s’ smile was beautiful as he got up. “I will see you at dinner?”

“Of course.”

“Wonderful.” ‘Hiromasa’ made the tiniest of bows before leaving. 

Feilong grinned. He ought to think where to take ‘Hiromasa’ for dinner. Perhaps somewhere serving fusion cuisine? He touched his lip with his spoon and the cold made him frown. ‘Hiromasa’s’ finger had been so warm, and he still couldn’t understand why he had allowed it. 

If it had been anyone else, he would probably have broken their hand. Instead he had stayed still, watching as ‘Hiromasa’ touched him casually, as if he knew him, and then pulled away, shocked at his own boldness. And then he had stayed silent, surprised that he had liked it. 

People treated him with deference and often looked at him in fear. ‘Hiromasa’ had acted without thinking, without fearing him, without respecting his boundaries. Asami had touched him like that once, and he had liked it back then as well. Because, for a moment, Feilong had felt like any a human being without the responsibilities that came with being in a Triad group. He had felt normal. ‘Hiromasa’s’ touch had made him feel the same. 

But the man was frivolous. A relationship with him would be an endless series of concerts, and dinners out, and museum or site visits, and Feilong much preferred being at home. He was quietly – boringly – domestic, but ‘Hiromasa’ would probably drag him out all the time. 

Feilong suddenly shook his head. Whatever was he thinking? A relationship with his guest? Where had that thought come from? Just because he found him quite attractive, with his warm, brown eyes, his easy smile, and his toned body? He hadn’t even spent that much time with the man, although the time he had, had been spent pleasantly. 

The knock on the door put an end to his thoughts. 

“Liu-laoban?”

“Yes?”

Huang offered him a file. “The report on your guest, sir. I thought you might want to see it immediately.”

“Ah.” He smiled. “You found out who he is.”

“Yes. Once we started looking out of Tokyo it was easy, but we wanted to double-check everything before bringing this to you.”

Feilong nodded as he picked the slim folder. “Thank you for your diligence. You may go.”

Huang bowed. Feilong opened the folder as soon as the door closed behind him. It wasn’t a long report, and the man’s name was at the top. “So, Mibu Oriya.” There was only one picture in the whole file, taken several years ago, judging by how short Mibu’s hair was. Feilong smiled. Mibu had been kind of cute when he was younger – not pretty, but with the same lovely smile he had as an adult. 

He started reading. Mibu was Asami’s age (Feilong had thought he was younger). He was the son of a yakuza boss, and even though he was not involved in his father’s activities someone had kidnapped him earlier that month. Huang had not been able to find the precise date, and, judging by the way Mibu the Elder had started going after one group after the other in retribution, his family had no idea where he was or who had him. 

“So, this is why Asami asked me to make sure nothing happens to him,” Feilong whispered. “He’s afraid someone might try attacking him again.” Well, they could try all they wanted. Mibu was under his protection now, and he would keep him safe. 

He read further on. Mibu may not have been involved in his father’s business, but he did run one of his family’s properties, an exclusive restaurant that was also a secret brothel. According to the report Oriya was also in charge of entertaining their most important guests, a male geisha. 

Feilong had to read that twice. A male geisha. Did that thing even exist? He got up, determined to find out. A quick search showed that yes, they did exist, but they were rare. Four in Tokyo, and Mibu in Kyoto made five. 

A visit to his favourite bookstore was more informative. Originally geisha were all male, but that changed in the seventeenth century when female geisha first appeared. In the past, some male geisha were sophisticated, skilled musicians, much like today’s geisha, and others jesters. 

Feilong bought a history of Yoshiwara, a book on geisha, and one on ukiyo-e and went back to the house to read them properly. Not that it took him that long to read the pages that were of interest. According to the books Oriya had to be a comedian, a taikomochi, since these were all the male geisha that remained, but he couldn’t picture that. His guest was frivolous, but did not try to be funny or amusing. 

The books also insisted that geisha were not prostitutes, although in the past the line between the two was sometimes blurred. Nowadays they were all accomplished performers and practitioners of traditional arts like the tea ceremony. They entertained customers with song and dance and games. 

But Mibu was running a brothel. And he entertained customers personally. 

It was these thoughts that made Feilong waste too much time staring outside the window. Was ‘entertaining customers’ a euphemism for being a prostitute? And why did the idea turn him on? Because if it were so, then he could have sex with the man, and not worry about a relationship. Because if it were so, then Mibu had to be one of the best fucks in Kyoto. Feilong could imagine that. 

He’d probably be sweetly submissive, like a female geisha. After all, he was ridiculously polite to him. Bowing every other minute and looking at him from under lowered eyelashes. Speaking in a tone as soft as his smile. 

He looked down at his book on ukiyo-e. The print on the page showed a couple making love in front of a lattice fence, clothes in disarray, revealing only their genitals. Was Mibu also wearing such clothes when working? And would he fuck half-dressed, like the geisha of old, silk rustling against his skin and his faint perfume rising with every movement? 

Because he did smell enticing; last night he smelled of musk, this morning he smelled of green tea. Every time he walked into a room Feilong wanted to smell him, and last night, when he leaned next to him, and touched him, for a moment, Feilong wanted to lean back, nuzzle the crook of his neck, and take a deep, deep breath. 

All those skin care products must have made his skin so soft. Feilong suddenly wanted to touch him so badly. 

Instead, he touched himself imagining Mibu’s lips wrapped around him. He’d never slept with a prostitute, but he was certain that they’d know what they were doing – unlike the last man he’d fucked, who had been so bad Feilong had to give him to his men for training. MIbu was such a polite, accomplished liar after all; Feilong could imagine him lying during sex as well. Yes, Mibu could probably make him feel like he was sleeping with a lover, and not a whore.

And after finishing Feilong had a bath, put away the books on geisha and the Yoshiwara, filled his pipe, and started smoking, trying to clear his thoughts. Mibu was his guest; he couldn’t just ask how much it would cost to have sex with him. No, if he wanted to fuck him, he’d had to treat him like a prospective lover and ‘woo’ him. 

That was more trouble than any whore was worth; who’d want a prostitute as a lover, anyway? 

&*&*

Feilong missed the first half of Wang’s report on Mibu. How could he not, when Wang had started it by saying that ‘his guest’ was resting? He was probably having a bath; Feilong knew it The images that sprang in his mind were more powerful than his decision to not wonder about sex with Mibu. By the time he could rein his thoughts, Wang was saying something about ‘new friends.’ “Excuse me?”

“Yes,” Wang nodded, as if Feilong had been paying attention. “And he made me carry it.”

He’d definitely missed something. He nodded too, as if he hadn’t. “Then what?”

“Then he played with them for maybe an hour, and gave them all the money he’d earned.” Wang snorted. “Rich brat,” he muttered with fondness under his breath. 

Feilong frowned. Wang wasn’t getting attached to Mibu, was he? “Thank you, Wang. You may go. And call Tao for me.”

Wang bowed. The door had barely closed behind him when it opened again. 

“Master Fei.”

“Tao. I would like some tea before going out for dinner tonight. I trust you have already chosen what I’ll wear.”

Tao beamed. “Of course. What kind of tea does Master Fei want?”

“What kind of a question is that?”

“Can I choose the tea?”

He smiled. “Of course.”

Tao ran out of the room. This time Feilong almost laughed. Tao was such a child. He didn’t want him to change. Ever. But since that wouldn’t happen, at least he hoped that Tao would grow into a happy, always smiling adult. 

He sighed. A stray dog was tamed by the hand that fed him, and so Tao had been tamed by him. But was that the best for Tao? He ought to find him a good, decent family, away from crime. Only he couldn’t. 

“Master Fei is sad,” Tao said softly. “Why?”

He hadn’t even heard him come in, let alone realise how much time had passed. “Nothing, Tao. Just… what kind of tea is that?”

“Japanese.” Tao took a step back. “Is that okay? Master Hiromasa taught me how to do it this morning and I wanted to show you.”

Feilong frowned. Was Tao also getting attached to Mibu? 

“I’ll take it back,” Tao said, picking up the tray.

“No, it’s fine. So, Master Hiromasa…”

“He made tea for us this morning. He’s strange.” Tao blinked. “In a good way.” 

“This kind of tea?”

“Yes, he says it’s called ‘thin tea’ and it’s very good for waking up. Or when one needs a strong tea during the day.”

Feilong nodded. “Excellent choice, Tao. I do need something to pick me up right now. Thank you for your ‘thin tea’, Tao.”

Tao beamed again. He waited to see him drink and Feilong couldn’t disappoint him. He took a sip, finding it tepid, thus easy to drink immediately, and of a delicate, pleasant taste. He smiled. “Thank you, Tao. This is excellent. You can go.”

Tao nodded. “Master Fei?”

“Yes.”

“I’m glad you’re going out tonight as well. Master Fei spends too much time at home.”

He ruffled Tao’s hair. “But Tao is at home. Why should I leave?”

Tao blushed, bowed, and hurried out of his room. Feilong smiled. He hadn’t even been lying to make Tao feel good. He liked staying at home. But there he was, finishing Japanese tea and getting ready for dinner out with his Japanese guest. Whom he definitely, and totally, and under no condition was he allowed to ask how much it cost to sleep with him. 

&*&*

Mibu was waiting for him by the entrance. He was wearing make-up again, he smelled faintly of myrtle of all things (definitely not one of the lotions Feilong had at home), and he was dressed in blue and grey again. He didn’t look like the whore he was, and Feilong still wanted to touch him so badly. Especially when Mibu smiled brightly at him. “Liu-sama.” 

“Hello. Ready?”

“Yes.”

“How was your day?”

“Marvellous. The view from the Buddha was fantastic, but you know what was even better? The performers at Sai Yeung Choi Street. Ah.” Mibu smiled, lowering his head as if embarrassed. “My playing is so old-fashioned, so it was good to hear how young people play music.”

“You play music?” 

“Yes. I sometimes play for our customers at our restaurant, but,” Mibu shrugged. He waited until Feilong was into the car before he joined him inside. 

“But?”

“Our customers drink too much to appreciate it, I sometimes feel. So, today I had so much fun playing with and for people who cared only about music.”

“You played. Music. At Sai Yeung Choi Street.” So that’s what Wang had meant with ‘new friends.’

Mibu nodded, smiling even more brightly than before. “Yes.” He glanced away, for a moment. “I liked it,” he whispered, sounding surprised. 

“You should play for me some time,” Feilong said just as softly. You should play with me, he wanted to say.

“Maybe I should.” Mibu looked at him for a moment, and smiled at him. “Maybe I will.”

Was that how he seduced his customers? Feilong shook his head. He was getting obsessed with the idea of fucking Mibu. Perhaps he should hire a prostitute for the night and get it out of his system. 

“I like old songs,” Mibu said suddenly. “Do you want to hear one?”

Feilong nodded. 

“It’s a song about tobacco. And how life is short and fleeting, like smoke.” Mibu gave him another soft smile and then started singing a slow, melancholic song. 

This is how you seduce your customers, Feilong thought, with your shining eyes and your sad songs. He smiled, wondering if Mibu was trying to tell him something, or if he really liked old songs about the brevity of life. 

The car stopped just as the song did. Feilong got out and looked up. “Look, a red moon.”

“Oh,” Mibu said quietly, sounding surprised. “A red moon,” he sighed. “How lovely.” He didn’t sound like he meant it. “Can I use your phone?” Mibu suddenly said. “I’ll join you inside in a moment, but I really need to make a phone call. Now.”

“Go ahead,” Feilong said as he handed his mobile. He looked up one more time before going into the restaurant. He hadn’t seen a red moon in years. It was lovely.

Some ten minutes later a waiter brought him his phone. “The gentleman sends his apologies,” he said simply. 

Feilong shrugged. Why was he disappointed? Didn’t he know already that Mibu was a liar and a whore? What else had he expected? “I’m ready to order now,” he told the waiter. 

Fuck Mibu. 

&*&*

Oriya stared at the moon. It would have been lovely, if only it weren’t red. 

“Hey.” Muraki’s voice sounded softer than usual as he opened the car door for Oriya. 

“Hey yourself,” he told him, getting in. 

Muraki lifted his chin gently and examined his face. “You’re wearing make-up. That’s… unusual.”

Oriya snorted, experiencing the usual annoyance he felt whenever Muraki looked at him so coldly. “I told you I had been hurt. I didn’t feel like parading that to the world.” 

Muraki let him go, grinning. He started the car. “Of course. So, what happened? I thought your father was joking when he called me and told me you’d been taken.”

“Father?”

“Yes, who else?” Muraki rolled his eyes upwards. “I wonder who is more stupid, you or him,” he sighed. “Why didn’t you come to me?” he asked, surprised and hurt at the same time. 

Oriya shrugged. He had thought about it but hadn’t been sure that Muraki wouldn’t contact his family. 

“Stupid,” Muraki said, shaking his head. He suddenly reached for Oriya’s hand and squeezed. “Stupid,” Muraki said even more softly. He pulled back. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine. You really needn’t have come.”

“And miss my chance to play YOUR shining knight on a white horse?”

Oriya snorted. “Idiot,” he muttered. 

“And this is my reward for coming to your rescue,” Muraki grinned. 

“No one asked you.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. Your father did. And your maids. And certain people who are so high up I’m not allowed to mention them. What was I to do under such pressure?”

Oriya sighed. He’d thought his family and his father had left him to rot, and yet, not only them, but even his annoying customers cared enough for his well-being to ask Muraki to find him. He felt ashamed. 

Muraki stopped grinning. “I would have come for you regardless of them asking me. You are my best friend, you idiot.”

Oriya smiled. Muraki had totally misunderstood him, and thought it was all about him. As usual. Selfish idiot. “I know,” he said, not correcting him. 

Muraki smiled happily. “You do,” he said, still smiling. “So, what happened? Tell me all about it.”

“I probably know less than you do. Someone went after me instead of Father, I guess.” 

Muraki nodded. “He’s trying to make a deal with one of the Tokyo families. Ito, from one of the smaller groups, didn’t like the idea, and thought that if they had you, they could force your father to pull back from negotiations.”

“How little do they know him.”

Muraki snorted. “You don’t know him much either. Ito is dead. And so are the ones who kidnapped you.”

Oriya looked outside. “Great, now he’s using me to make statements. I bet that solidified his standing among the groups.”

“Oriya,” Muraki started. 

“What? You know it’s true, as well as you know that if he wanted to find me, all he had to do was reach for me. Instead he left me there.” 

“He knew you could handle it. You are… you, after all.” 

“But maybe I didn’t want to be me, for a change.”

“Is that what you’re doing here?” Muraki asked softly as he parked. “With Liu, of all people?”

“Liu has been a most generous host,” Oriya said as he got out of the car. “Don’t you dare hurt him, or his people.”

“Me?” He blinked innocently.

“Yes, you.” He glanced at the moon. “Whom did you kill tonight?”

“Some homeless person. I just needed some extra energy, that’s all.” 

Oriya sighed. 

“Unlike your father, I can’t just ‘reach’ for you. I have to use magic and magic takes power, Oriya. You know that,” Muraki said simply.

Great, so Muraki was blaming him for having to kill. What had he done to be born in this life? He opened the door and headed for the elevator. 

Muraki frowned. “You disapprove.”

“Of course I do. You can’t kill people as if they don’t matter. They do.”

“He was but a homeless junkie.”

“He was someone’s son. Maybe a brother too? Someone with friends. You can’t…” Oriya sighed, “You can’t.”

“Of course I can,” Muraki said. “People are nothing but tools to be used. As if you don’t know that.”

Of course he did. Oriya looked down, feeling guilty. The elevator stopped. “I just need to leave a couple of things and we’ll be off.”

Muraki nodded and stayed still. Oriya ran to Liu’s study, waving to Liu’s guards as he went there. He put down the credit card and the card keys on Liu’s desk, opened Liu’s notebook and picked up the pen. 

‘Thank you for everything. Come visit me in Kyoto. And bring the music instruments.’ He wrote his number underneath. 

He took a deep breath. Perhaps that would motivate Liu to visit him. He wanted to thank him for his kindness. And see him again. He definitely wanted that. 

He hurried back to Muraki. 

Muraki smiled warmly at him. When the doors closed he leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “Ready to go home?”

Oriya nodded. it wasn’t like he had a choice anymore. 

Muraki hugged him, making him wince in pain. “You’re oddly affectionate tonight,” he said. Muraki hadn’t touched him that much in years. It made Oriya feel strange. If Muraki did that again, he’d touch him back. 

“I missed you.” Muraki hid his face on the crook of Oriya’s neck and a moment later Oriya felt Muraki’s lips against his skin. 

“What are you doing?”

Muraki kissed him again. “When your father called, I was afraid I’d lost you. When at first I couldn’t find you, I thought I’d lost you. Please, Oriya. Let me reassure myself that you’re here.”

“But…”

Muraki looked at him. “We haven’t done this in a while? I know.”

And whose fault was that? Oriya wanted to complain. His door had always been open, but Muraki had grown more and more obsessed with revenge and power and… 

Muraki kissed him. “No dark thoughts tonight.”

Oriya smiled. “No dark thoughts. I promise.”

Muraki nuzzled him. He continued being quietly affectionate, glancing at him every two seconds and keeping his hand on Oriya’s thigh as he drove them back to his hotel. Oriya tried hard not to think that it wouldn’t last, that once Muraki had been satisfied, he’d go back to being his usual self, using Oriya as a sort of diary where he confided his most crazy thoughts, expecting absolute acceptance. He’d promised no dark thoughts, and so he tried to focus on the weight of Muraki’s hand, the warmth that emanated from it, Muraki’s soft smile – so rarely given to him these last years.

He was utterly unsuccessful. He followed Muraki into his hotel, feeling miserable. The way the hotel staff did not look at him did not help matters. They probably thought he was the whore Muraki had hired for the night; the professional, careful way they did not acknowledge his presence made him feel embarrassed even though he shouldn’t be. 

Even as Muraki stripped him he felt awkward, disassociated, as if this was not happening to him, as if this was not what he wanted every time Muraki visited him. Muraki’s prodding gaze and gentle touch, cataloguing the bruises on his arms and torso, made him feel even less present. As Muraki turned him gently around to check his back, Oriya realized he’d slipped into ‘Doctor visiting mode,’ separating his body, a slab of meat, from his self. 

Muraki kissed him on the nape when he was done. He traced the bruises on his lower back. “You’re lucky. No fractured ribs and obviously no internal injuries.”

He snorted. If he had had any internal injuries he would have died already. Sometimes he felt that Muraki was no real doctor, but he just liked to play doctor with him. “Luck had nothing to do with it. They knew where to strike in order to cause pain but little injury.” 

“Hm.” Muraki lied down next to him and pulled him close. His body burned, and Oriya closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth, even though the contact was also causing him a low, constant pain. He felt himself relax, amused that Muraki rubbed himself against him, cock slowly sliding between his thighs. Oriya felt himself respond a little, just a tiny coil of desire pooling low in his belly that felt more soothing than arousing.

“I wish Ito and his associates were alive so I could kill them,” Muraki suddenly said, sliding and covering Oriya with his body and thrusting between his legs faster and faster. “I wouldn’t even be quick or nice about it. I would skin them alive, break open their ribcages, and reach for their still beating hearts with my bare hands. And then tear them apart,” Muraki moaned, coming, his semen hot and sticky on his skin.

“For me?” Oriya smiled. Muraki would never change, always connecting sex with violence. He supposed he was lucky Muraki had never practiced the joining of the two with him. 

“For you.” He reached for Oriya’s cock and started stroking him, bringing him to full arousal only to suddenly stop.

“What?”

Muraki moved off him. Then he turned Oriya around, grinned, and shimmied down the bed until his head rested on Oriya’s thigh, his hair softly teasing his sensitive skin. Muraki smiled at him. “Even like this, you look good enough to eat.”

Oriya snorted, but then Muraki swallowed him, and – oh, all this time Muraki had been improving his skills, because Oriya had never felt anything hotter or tighter than his throat, or anything more skillful than his tongue. That tiny coil in his belly grew and twisted, and wrapped itself around him, following Muraki’s command of his flesh. Oriya’s pleasure felt like a wave that rose and rose until it crashed on the shores of Muraki’s body, and Oriya sighed with relief. 

He felt Muraki clean him with a wet wipe, and then press himself against him, half-covering him with his body, half-trapping him with his arms. Oriya drifted into sleep, feeling like the last years of his life hadn’t happened, like he was back at college, making love to Muraki for the first time. “How I love you,” he whispered as sleep finally claimed him.


	5. Chapter 5

His phone wouldn’t stop screeching. Feilong picked it up with eyes closed, ready to growl at whoever dared bother him. 

“You’re ok. I’m so glad,” Akihito said the moment he answered. “So glad.”

Feilong opened his eyes. His head hurt. “Akihito? What’s wrong?”

“I was calling you all night, but you weren’t answering. I was worried.”

He snorted. “I was busy.” Busy having more wine than usual at dinner and then going to a bar and getting so drunk his bodyguard had to carry him back home and put him to bed. “Why, what happened?”

“Is Mibu there?” Asami asked. “Hey, I was on the phone,” Akihito protested next to him. “Give it back.”

Feilong smiled at Akihito’s complaints. “No, he’s not here,” he answered Asami. 

“He’s out? Hm… When he’s back tell him that Muraki is looking for him.”

That woke him up completely. “Muraki? As in Dr ‘I-like-blowing-things-up-for-fun’ Muraki?”

Asami chuckled. “Is that how people call him there?”

“Ever since he blew up Queen Camellia. It was impressive, but over the top.” He stopped laughing. “Asami, I don’t think Baishe can deal with the particular brand of crazy that is Dr Muraki. If he wants Mibu, he can have him.”

“Yes, of course.” 

Feilong frowned. “What is it you’re not telling me this time?”

“Don’t be so suspicious.” Feilong could hear Asami grinning. “If Mibu gets in touch with Muraki before Muraki finds him at your place, nothing will happen.”

“Asami, what are you not telling me?” He repeated, annoyed. His head hurt, and all he wanted was some strong tea, and no noise.

“Did Mibu tell you what happened to him here?”

“I know he was kidnapped, and that he somehow escaped before coming here.”

“Before he was kidnapped, his father was negotiating with members of my wider group.”

Feilong translated that into ‘his father was making a deal with my boss.’ 

“Mibu Senior was as cool as a cucumber all that time. Very impressive. My group liked it. Then, Mibu Junior came to me, and I sent him off to you, because you’re the only person I could trust with that.”

“I’m almost honoured.”

“You should be,” Asami said. Feilong could hear him smirk. 

“And?”

“Half a day after Mibu Junior left Japan, Mibu Senior unleashed his men, as well as Muraki. He’s left a trail of blood from Kyoto to Tokyo and now he’s in Hong Kong. With my group’s blessing, because now they’re working together with Mibu Senior. If Muraki….”

“If Dr Muraki thinks I was behind Mibu’s kidnapping, Baishe and I will be screwed.”

“But if Mibu gets in touch with Muraki first….”

Feilong sighed and fell back on the bed. “I fucking hate you,” he groaned, hanging up. What a mess. Had Asami set him up? But then why call to warn him? Fuck, he had to find Mibu.

He stood up, feeling dizzy, put on his gown and went to his study. That was occupied. By a white-haired man in white. “Dr Muraki,” he said, shocked. 

“Yes, don’t mind me.” Dr Muraki grinned, going through his files. “I only came to pick up Oriya’s stuff. He forgot them last night.”

So, he was in no immediate danger. Feilong sat on the couch, sighing. His headache was the headache to end all headaches. 

Dr Muraki studied him. “You look a little under the weather. Hangover, perhaps, or the flu?”

Feilong narrowed his eyes, glaring at the doctor. 

“Hangover, I bet. You know what’s the best cure for it?” Dr Muraki stood up in a fluid motion and went to the bar. “Keep drinking. Water. Lots and lots of water.” He poured water from the carafe into a glass and brought it to Feilong. “So, drink.”

Feilong took it gratefully. “Thanks.” He finished the glass in three gulps. “So, Oriya’s stuff?”

“Yes.” He went back to the desk and picked up a small suitcase. “But not the musical instruments. No, these you have to bring back yourself,” the doctor laughed. “Ordinarily I’d suggest visiting him in the autumn, but that’s months away. I’m certain that he’s already regretting leaving his new toys behind, so why not visit him in a couple of weeks?”

Feilong widened his eyes. 

“Miyako Odori, is all I have to say to you. That’s worth seeing once in your life.”

“What?”

The doctor smiled indulgently at him. “Oriya is a busy man no matter when you visit. So, you might as well visit him soon and bring him his instruments.”

“I…”

The doctor sighed. “How hung-over are you? I’ll say it in simple words. Oriya wants you to visit him and bring him the instruments he bought. In my opinion, you should do it sooner rather than later, because Kyoto in April is beautiful. There are the Dances of the Old Capital, and the cherry trees are in bloom.” The doctor smiled, looking happy. “The cherry trees. There’s a magnificent one in Kokakurou. That alone is worth a visit.” He moved towards the door. “Well, nice meeting you, Liu. Do take better care of yourself. Getting so drunk is neither wise nor healthy.”

Feilong groaned. What the fuck happened? 

&*&*

Oriya reached for Muraki and found him not there. He sighed, slowly opening his eyes. The sudden light made pain flare at the back of his right eye, but that was not important. Muraki was nowhere to be seen. That was what mattered. Why was he surprised? As if one night could really turn back time and bring them back where they had started. 

He went to the bathroom, emptied his bladder, and started filling the tub. He might as well enjoy one last bubble bath before going back home. The hotel did not have as many enticing varieties of bath bombs and foams as Liu’s home, but he would manage. 

While waiting he went to have a look around Muraki’s suite. The view from the windows was spectacular. He’d probably miss it when he returned home. All that steel kissing the sky. All those lights. That all-embracing sea. It couldn’t be more different than the view from his window, or his garden. He’d definitely miss it. 

The fridge had the obligatory small bottles of alcohol. They weren’t enticing. He found his cigarettes instead. “Smoke, smoke, just smoke,” he sang softly to himself as he lit a cigarette. He missed his pipe. 

Oriya went back to check if the tub was full. Not even half-full, so he sat by the edge and smoked, watching the water’s level slowly rise. If Muraki hadn’t come back when he did, he’d probably be having a bath after having had sex with Liu. He did want him. How could he not? He was pretty to look at. And quite accommodating too, letting him come and go as he pleased. And kind too, so kind and generous, giving without expecting anything in return.

“Smoke, smoke, just smoke.” That’s what had happened to the little desire he’d felt for someone not called Muraki. The first wisp of want he’d felt in years for someone not called Muraki had gone up in smoke, leaving him feeling stupid for giving in to Muraki every time. 

He put out the cigarette, slid inside the tub, poured the entire bottle of shower gel in the water, and was disappointed when it didn’t produce as many bubbles as he wanted. He could call reception, but he couldn’t be bothered. Instead, he leaned back, closed his eyes, and let the water soothe him.

“You look like a wet cat,” Muraki suddenly said. 

Oriya gasped, surprised. He’d fallen asleep, and hadn’t even realized it. Gods, he was lucky he hadn’t drowned. “Where were you?” 

Muraki grinned. “Went to bring you a decent-sized conditioner bottle. That mini bottle is barely enough for my hair.” He lifted Oriya’s hair with both hands. “May I?”

Oriya nodded. His hair was such a pain, but how could he cut it when both Muraki and Ukyou enjoyed playing with it so much? He closed his eyes as Muraki washed his hair carefully. “How did you find me?” he asked, afraid he’d fall asleep again in the quiet. 

Muraki snorted softly. “Dumb luck.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your House could keep track of your energy while you were in Japan. But when you left, there was a gap, but not a break, so we knew you were alive. Your father and I sat down and tried to think where you might have gone. Clearly you could have gone anywhere, but it was more likely that you would have gone at a place where there would be friends – or at least allies. Which suggested China, America, or Italy. We decided to start close to home. Your father sent a group in Macau, one in Shanghai, and I came to Hong Kong.”

Oriya sighed. His father really was testing him. Or using him for his own purposes. “I see.” One day he’d make a clean break with his House and go somewhere they wouldn’t be able to find him. Probably Australia. He sighed. A man could dream, but not him. He’d never break free. 

“You’re thinking dark thoughts,” Muraki told him. “Close your eyes. I need to rinse your hair now.”

Oriya did. He felt the water run down his face, warm and relaxing, and he leaned into it as if it were caressing him. “Were you trying to ingratiate yourself with my father?”

“Don’t be stupid. I was worried about you.”

Oriya snorted. As if. 

“I was,” Muraki protested. “I know I shouldn’t be since you’re… you, but I was.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” He glared at Muraki.

Muraki laughed. “It means exactly that,” he said, turning the showerhead on Oriya’s face. 

The water stung his eyes and made him sputter. In retaliation, he grabbed Muraki and pulled him into the tub. The showerhead fell down and started spraying the wall. He turned the water off. “You’re so annoying.”

“So are you,” Muraki gasped. 

Oriya started laughing. “You look like a wet cat. A short-hair.”

Muraki nuzzled him. “Lucky me you like cats, right?” He kissed him. “No dark thoughts allowed today.”

“But I don’t want to go home. Not when I look like this. They’ll pity me.”

“No, they’ll feel guilty, and let you take days off work.”

“Hm.”

Muraki smiled. “Trust me, I’m an evil genius. I know how these things work.”

That’s what scared him. But he wasn’t supposed to think dark thoughts that day either, so he pushed them all aside, and pretended that time had gone back, and that Muraki wasn’t washing and cleaning and dressing him in order to sacrifice him to his House’s altar.


End file.
